So Many Silences
by chinocoop81
Summary: "He is trying so hard to talk to her, but no words are coming out, and she is turning around and walking away and he is left missing her, the dial tone from the night he broke up with her ringing in his ears." RM post-season 3 break up. one shot.


**A/N I wrote this to get me back into the swing of writing. Expect a new post of Coming Home next week. Don't lose heart, I have plenty more ideas for that story. I hope this can hold you over until then.**

 **If the dream sequence is confusing, I apologize. Let me know what you think.**

Ryan wakes having an off day. He feels sluggish and weak, but blames it on his late night with Sadie and the homework that just keeps piling on. Seth tells him he looks a little pale, but Ryan shrugs it off. He's had worse. It is nothing he can't handle.

They are giving presentations in English that day, and he is slotted to go first. He hates his last name sometimes. He tried to practice last night, but Sadie came over and she was so happy and carefree and willing that he he'd gotten distracted. As he thinks of this, Marissa walks in looking tired and hungover. He turns the other way before they can make eye contact. He hates having this class with her.

Except, he doesn't really hate having this class with her. He turns a little in her direction, just enough to see her slump into her chair out of the corner of his eyes. When they were together, they'd sat next to each other and written notes every day. She always had a smile, or she used to, back before they started fighting. The fights had been horrible, screaming and accusations, but somehow the silence was worse. To this day it still existed between them.

The teacher, Mrs. Applebaum, tears him from his thoughts. "Good morning class. Today we begin our presentations. Ryan, are you ready?"

Ryan grabs his notecards and slowly stands, immediately feeling dizzy. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, then opens them again and blinks a few times. The world seems blurrier than a moment ago. He shuffles to the front of the room, blinking fast and hard in an attempt to steady the swirling world around him.

When he turns to face the rest of the classroom, he briefly registers the world was spiraling together before falling to the ground as if in slow motion, a blurry figure running toward him and shrieking his name and trying to catch him before he hit the ground.

XXXXX

Marissa helps Ryan to the nurse's office, her hand never leaving his arm, her eyes never leaving his body. He falls in and out of consciousness, but she knows by his fuzzy eyes and inaudible grunting that he doesn't comprehend a single thing. Mrs. Applebaum and the nurse had both tried to make Marissa return to class, but Marissa stares at both of them as if they are the stupidest people on the entire earth. Leave Ryan? _Her_? Had she ever done that before?

While the nurse tries to get ahold of Sandy and Kirsten, Marissa's mind wanders to the first time she had seen Ryan at the bottom of the driveway, and all the moments in between. She realizes that she _had_ left him once, way back with Oliver, had turned and walked away from him and their love and had fucked up so enormously that Ryan probably still held it against her. As she purses her lips and stares at Ryan sleeping in the makeshift bed from her spot on the chair, she knows she has fucked up too many times.

But she loves him. A part of her always had. All of her always would.

Suddenly, she becomes aware of the conversation in the next room. The nurse appears to be on the phone with Kirsten. "Is there any way anyone else can pick him up? He doesn't need a hospital, but he does need to rest." Long pause. "Well, he could stay here, but…"

Without realizing it, Marissa finds herself in the next room interrupting the conversation. "I can take him home."

The nurse, an older woman tired of long hours and mediocre pay, says, "I don't think that's entirely appropriate."

"Tell Kirsten that I'll take him home," Marissa insists, narrowing her eyes at the nurse. If she had inherited anything from her mother, it is the intimidating Julie Cooper stare. "She knows he'll be safe with me."

The nurse sighs and says, "A Marissa Cooper is offering to take him home." She listens to Kirsten's reply, sighing once again and pursing her lips. "And you're sure you're giving her permission?"

Marissa is already in the next room with her hand running through Ryan's sweaty hair, brushing it from his eyes. He is so pale and warm and clammy at the same time. "Ry?" she murmurs softly, not wanting to wake him, but knowing she will need his help getting him to the car, even with the wheelchair the nurse has provided. He doesn't stir, so she calls out a little more forcefully. "Ryan?"

His eyes slowly creep open, but she knows he isn't really there, just a tired and sick version of the boy she loves. If he _was_ there, he would have ran from her; that's all he does these days. "Mrrisssssa," he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed again.

"I'm going to get you home, but I need your help, okay?" she says softly, her voice just above a whisper.

"Sleep," he slurs, not opening his eyes.

She brushes more hair from his face, pursing her lips even harder together. "But we need to get you home first, okay?"

His eyes open slowly, gazing at her absently for a while before he nods, or at least attempts to. "Okay."

The nurse walks in, a frown still on her face. She hands Marissa a piece of paper. "These are instructions for how to take care of him. He has the flu – there has been an outbreak recently. He's contagious, so be careful, but these are some over the counter medications I recommend." The nurse sighs, glancing over at the semi-conscious Ryan. "He needs plenty of fluids. Check his temperature every one to two hours, and make sure he has plenty of blankets nearby to keep him warm."

Marissa merely nods, taking it all in. "I'll make sure he's okay," she promises, both to herself and the nurse. She owes him at least that much for all the times he has saved her.

XXXXX

She watches him for hours, looking for any signs of worsening fever or a more serious infection. She has never seen Ryan sick, has never seen him lose control of himself, and this is odd for her. She hates herself for enjoying this, taking care of him. She hates that she finally feels his equal, that it takes him completely passed out with a fever of 101 degrees for her to finally be capable of helping him the way she has so desperately wanted to for three years.

Kirsten comes home a few hours later, frenzied and concerned. "How is he?"

"Sick, but resting," Marissa says, gesturing towards him sprawled on the bed. She sighs as she gazes at him, using a cool washcloth to wipe some of the sweat from his forehead.

"Looks like he's in good hands," Kirsten remarks, observing the way Marissa fusses over Ryan. She knows they are over, that Ryan is with Sadie and Marissa is with some other guy that Seth and especially not Ryan will talk to her about; but Kirsten also knows that Marissa Cooper would always love her son, and she is almost convinced the opposite is true as well.

Marissa's cheeks redden at Kirsten's comment, but she merely shrugs in an attempt to brush the comment off. "We happened to be in class together. I saw him faint. I couldn't let him just stay there at school waiting for you."

Kirsten knows Marissa almost as much as she knows her own boys, and she knows that Marissa would never leave Ryan's side until he comes around again. "You're doing such a good job taking care of him, and I have more errands to run." She pauses. "Think you could keep watching him for me?" 

Marissa doesn't even glance in Kirsten's direction. There is no need to even ask her. As if she could bring herself to leave. "Of course." After Kirsten turns and leaves, shutting the pool house door behind her, Marissa sighs and murmurs, "Always."

XXXXX

Ryan dreams of darkness and light and heat and water all in one. He jumps from moment to moment in a swirl and flurry of memories, lost and powerless to slow time down.

He watches a young blonde hair blue eyed version of himself riding a bike around the neighborhood, smirking and waving in Theresa's direction, the pinks and orange of the sky behind him as his mom calls him to dinner.

He watches a mischievous ten year old Trey flicking peas in his direction, and the angry thud of his father's work boots come bounding across the floor. Ses the yanking of Trey from his seat and shoving him in the direction of the bedrooms, the belt pulled from those faded black pants, hears the whistle of it fly through the air, his broken brother slumped in bed, _after_.

Suddenly, he is in the Cohen house, sitting at the table pushing around peas, unable to place them in his mouth. Marissa always teased him about his hatred of peas. He sees his own sad half broken smile – because that's what it is, not a half smile, not a full smile, but a half _broken_ smile, that sad lift of only one side of his mouth.

The world falls at his feet and he is thirteen kissing Theresa for the first time, his teeth scraping against hers, his hands awkward holding her side. But when he pulls back to look at her, he is sixteen and kissing Marissa on a ferris wheel that goes around and around, just as they always did – around and around, up and down, and as much as he hates that scared heart in his throat, he cannot climb off because it is Marissa and with her, even fifty feet in the air, he is safe.

He leans in to kiss Marissa, but she disappears and he falls forward, scraping his arm on rough, course tile floor, his dad poised above him, chest heaving. He closes his eyes and cowers, ready for the hard blow, wincing as it comes.

He opens his eyes and sees he is on the beach and it is his first night in Newport, Luke standing over him welcoming him to the OC, _bitch_. And as he stares up at Luke, confused, exhausted, the image changes again and Luke disappears and the campfire disappears along with the loud distorted music in the background.

He can only hear waves rough and unrelenting on the shore. He slowly stands, glancing around, trying to see through the darkness, and that's when he sees them, two lone figures on the shore not a hundred yards away. He tries to run toward them, but his legs won't budge and his voice isn't more than a whisper as he shouts Marissa's name over and over again, angry tears springing to his eyes as he watches Trey force her down onto the sand.

He hears a gun shot, and turns to see that he is in Trey's apartment, and the gun is in _his_ hand, and his finger is on the trigger and his brother is falling, falling, falling – through the floor and the ceiling and down into the darkness.

He tries to reach out to catch Trey, but then he is on a cliff and he isn't reaching for Trey, but for Johnny, and he has to turn away the moment Johnny hits the jagged rocks below, because even to this day he still has nightmares of the bloodstains on those rocks.

Marissa. He turns to see her crying, and he forgets everything else, all his problems and memories and scars, and he only focuses on her. He walks to her, knowing he needs to comfort her, be there for her, love her, but he does not know how – he never knew how – and he wonders why everyone always thinks he is saving her because he cannot even _talk_ to her.

He places his hand on her shoulder, or tries to, but suddenly his hand is reaching out into empty space and Marissa is across the hallway and he is pretending not to see her. There is so much left unsaid between them, so many silences, and he did not know how to fill those gaps so he ended it rather than trying to talk to her.

He feels Marissa staring at him, feels her gaze on him hotter than an exploding sun, and he cannot avoid her anymore. He lifts his eyes to hers, and he sees nothing but disappointed tears.

"I'm sorry," he shouts, or tries to, because it is nothing but a jumble of letters falling from his mouth. He tries again and again, screaming at the top of his lungs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

He is trying so hard to talk to her, but no words are coming out, and she is turning around and walking away and he is left missing her, the dial tone from the night he broke up with her ringing in his ears.

Suddenly, he is enveloped in darkness again, and he likes this dream best of all.

XXXXX

Marissa stays by his side all night despite the protests of her mom and Sandy and even Seth. She knows she is not his girlfriend, that she does not have a right to sit by his side anymore, but she also knows that she belongs there next to him, that he has always been hers to protect and care for and save, and she has fucked up so many times that she has to get it right just this once.

The hours pass and she dozes a few times, but mostly she is on the edge of her seat trying to anticipate what he would need. She makes sure he drinks and takes medicine and has fresh blankets and a cool rag nearby at all moments. She pets his hair and fusses over the blankets and his temperature and watches as he tosses and turns as if stuck in a terrible dream. More than once she tries to wake him, but all she hears in response is a soft grunt and what sounds like a quiet muttering of her name and "I'm sorry," but she knows she is just hearing things.

A full twenty-four hours after they arrived in the pool house, Ryan finally stops tossing and turning. At around this time his fever breaks and his breathing evens and Marissa knows that he is going to be okay, even though everyone has been telling her for the last twenty-four hours. She can finally see an improvement, and her heart and body and breathing soften as she stares at her sad and broken boy, who at last seems to have found peace.

Ryan awakes later that evening, his head slightly pounding and his body sore. His eyes search the room and fall upon Kirsten, who watches him with motherly concern. "Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

He tries to sit up, but his whole body aches and he is still weak, so he falls back against the pillows. "Crappy."

Kirsten smiles at that, her first smile since the nurse had called. "You fainted in class. You have the flu."

"How long have I been out?" Ryan asks, rubbing his face tiredly. His body is stiff, as if he has been in bed all day.

"Since yesterday morning when Marissa brought you home," Kirsten replies, glancing at the clock. Ryan follows her gaze: 7pm.

"Marissa?" He asks, confused. He has not spoken to her, not really, since they broke up. She never showed to his birthday party, and he has Sadie now, anyway.

"She was there when you fainted," Kirsten explains. She smiles wistfully, staring him straight in the eyes. "You know, she has not left your side this entire time. I had to beg her to go eat something a little while ago."

Ryan blinks, his surprise evident. He thinks of the hungover and sometimes drunk girl that makes an occasional appearance at school, and somehow he cannot believe that the same girl took care of him this entire time. But when he remembers _his_ Marissa, the best parts of the tragically broken girl from next door, he knows Kirsten is telling the truth. He swallows hard, unsure of what to say. When it comes to Marissa, he always is.

As if summoned by their talk of her, Marissa walks into the pool house, her eyes immediately meeting his. She pauses in the doorway, surprised and at once happy to see he his awake. As she stares at him, however, it is as if reality sets in, and the happiness fades away, replaced by a wall so thick, he does not think he can ever get through. "Um, hey."

"Hey," he says softly, unable to shake his hazy dreams away. Images come back to him, muddled snapshots of moments in time, and he knows he spent the better part of his fever dreaming of her.

Kirsten glances between the two teenagers, and knows they need their time alone "Well, I'm going to tell Sandy and Seth that you're awake for now." When Kirsten reaches Marissa, she places her hand on the girl's shoulder, smiling warmly. "Thank you, Marissa, for everything." She glances back at her confused, sick son, and adds, "Stay as long as you want."

"Thanks, Kirsten," Marissa mumbles. Kirsten closes the door behind her, and suddenly Ryan and Marissa are left alone. Marissa refuses to meet Ryan's gaze, too afraid of the usual disappointment she too often finds. She walks to her chair and picks up her purse from the floor. "I, um, should probably go." 

Ryan tries to sit up again, and barely manages. "Wait, Marissa…"

"No, it's okay. You were sick, and you're better now, so I guess I'm not needed around here anymore," Marissa says quietly, staring down at the floor. She wants so badly to look into those blue eyes that she loses herself in, but these days she is lost enough without him in the mix.

"Marissa, please," Ryan pleads, and something about his husky voice makes her stop and actually look at him. She does not say a word, and neither does he for a whole minute. Finally, he mumbles, "Thank you for taking care of me."

She shrugs, rubbing her arm up and down, suddenly feeling so cold. "It was nothing." 

"No, it was…it was…" He tries to think of the right words, but he realizes with them there are no right words. There are only words, and it's about time he uses them. "It was nice."

She furrows her eyebrows. "Nice?"

He nods. "To wake up and realize I've been cared for… especially by you…"

She exhales slowly, processing his words. She wishes it was not this difficult between them, that it could be easy again, or easy _for once._ "It's really not a big deal."

"It is to me," he says, and his husky, tired voice is so sincere.

"Are you feeling okay now?" She asks, rubbing her arms once again.

He shrugs. "I'm still tired and achy, but I don't feel like I'll be fainting in class again."

Marissa lifts her lips into the smallest smile. "Mrs. Applebaum nearly fainted herself. You scared her half to death. I thought I would have to help you both to the nurse."

Ryan stares at this girl he has loved for so long, and he knows his Marissa is still there. He thought he lost her after Trey and Johnny and even now with Volchok, but his Marissa is still there underneath all the layers of sadness and regret. It is enough to make him laugh the tiniest bit at her story, and to smile a real smile that illuminates his eyes. "I wish I had actually seen that."

Marissa's own smile falls away as she looks at him. "I was so worried about you," she admits quietly.

"I'm fine," he assures her.

"You weren't," she urges. She bites her lip. "You kept tossing and turning. You seemed so upset, like I get when I…" She stops herself before she can finish the sentence. She should not have gone on that long.

"When you?" he presses on, wanting her to say it.

"When I have nightmares," she says after careful contemplation. It is nice being honest with him.

He blinks a few times, saddened by her words. "I didn't know you still had nightmares," he murmurs.

"It's not like we really talk anymore," she says before she can think better of it.

"Or even talked then," he adds, his voice so soft. She lifts her eyes to meet his again. She cannot look away. With him, she will always get lost, but it's okay. She likes to think they get lost together.

She opens her mouth to speak, to say she misses them, misses this, misses everything, but the pool house door opens and Sadie comes bursting in. "Ryan, thank god. I was so worried when you didn't respond, and I tried stopping by last night but Kirsten said you were sick and I…" Sadie notices the third person in the room, and immediately frowns awkwardly. "Oh, um, hi Marissa." 

Marissa feels the tears prick the back of her eyes, but she keeps them at bay. She should not be disappointed. She already knew he moved on, and so has she – sort of. Not really. Not at all. But she is trying, at least. "Sadie. I was just going." She throws one last glance in Ryan's direction, avoiding his gaze as she says, "I hope you feel better."

She is outside, tears finally falling down her face, when Ryan catches up to her. He is slow and tired and so weak, but he cannot let things end so horribly between them again. "I'm sorry," he calls out, his voice soft, but she can hear him anyway.

"For what?" she asks, wiping the tears away, refusing to turn and let him see her cry.

"For everything."

She finally turns to look at him. He is wearing a wife beater and faded black sweat pants. His hair is a mess, sticking up and blowing in the breeze. He is still pale, but his color is slowly returning. There is clarity in his eyes, a fire and determination that she has not seen in so long.

"Me too," she says with a sad shrug, meeting his sad gaze.

He wants to say so much, to fill up this empty space between them, to become _them_ again; except, when was the last time they actually did speak? When was the last time there were words between them? He cannot remember, and that is the saddest part of it all.

"See you at school?" he asks, hopeful.

"Yeah, see you," she replies, crestfallen.

She walks away, and he returns to Sadie, and the sad silence between them carries on.


End file.
